What Happens When The Stars Go Out
by aphishinthec
Summary: She feels invisible. Her life, filled with pain and trauma. Just when the darkness threatens to swallow her whole, a stranger in a bar offers a hand. One she doesn't know she so desperately needs. Because all he can see, is her. AU Companion to So It Goes.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello** **there!**

 **I was working on the next chapter of So It Goes, and listening to music, when this AU scenario popped into my head and demanded to be written. It will be canon with the Dixon brothers past, and most of the past I've written for Ali. But, I really just wanted to explore what it would have been like for these two to meet pre-apocalypse. Ali was in a very dark place pre ZA, a place Daryl has been before. So, lets see what happens when they come together.**

 **I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy it.**

 **Xx**

* * *

What Happens When The Stars Go Out

He walks into the smoky bar just after midnight. A metal band screams into the void as drunken bar goers drown their lives in the liquid pain relief. And truthfully, he is here to do the same.

At a small booth in the back, sits his brother. A man he loves and hates and resents all at once. At least ten years his senior, his brother did his best to guide him as a child. Though his best often included getting into fights, stealing, and using drugs. He spent time away. A lot of time. Locked up, is what he would say. The police would come knocking and his brother would be cuffed while a little boy would cling and cry and scream.

 _"I'm not your Daddy!"_ He would yell. _"You ain't mine! So fuck off!"_

He just didn't want to be left. Left with _him._

That little boy would creep past a dark room in the hall, stinking of Winston cigarettes and malt liquor, with a black and white television squawking and chattering loudly at all hours. That room meant a beating. That room meant the belt. So he did his best to absorb into the floor and melt past it. Anything to be invisible. Anything to keep Daddy from noticing. Because Mommy was gone. Burnt herself down to nothing with a Virginia Slim, and she was never coming back.

And there wasn't anyone left to protect him.

When he sees his brother, he feels the sting on his back. Phantom pains of moments past.

"Hey there little brother. You're late."

"Yeah well, I got held up, your boy was late with the package."

Meth. Moving meth was easy money at a high price. But he didn't have anything to lose, though he knew he likely had nothing to gain either. His brother was there, and that felt okay. That felt safe, though it was anything but.

"Can I get you anything?" A feminine voice brings him out of his thoughts.

"A Budweiser for my baby bro, and hell, you can just go ahead and bring one for me too little darlin'" His brother says, in an oily voice he knows to well.

He hopes to God he doesn't try to fuck another waitress tonight. For her sake.

She turns and leaves, saying nothing, and the band plays on.

They sit in silence, and he watches their surroundings. A mosh pit forms at the stage, people pushing and pulling. It is anarchy. It looks like the way it feels to be in his own head.

He pulls out a cigarette. A Parliament and a silver lighter. The waitress appears as he lights it. She sets his brother's beer down and turns to give him his. He looks up to offer his thanks and it is then he actually sees her.

Dark wavy hair casts a halo of obsidian around her pale skin. Bright amber eyes meet his and he feels something. Something strange he can't quite name.

"Thanks." He mumbles, and she offers a nod.

He watches her go.

"I seen the way you're lookin' at her. You gonna try and fuck her?" His brother asks.

"Nah. She's pretty, but I ain't tryin' to deal with a mess tonight."

"She's _pretty_ " His brother mocks. "She's gutter trash. You could fuck her real quick and then be gone and she wouldn't think twice. Bitches like that make the real money that way, in the alley."

He watches the way she slinks around the bar. Like a wounded animal. The other waitresses flirt for their tips. They wear more revealing clothes and are more inviting in their conversations. But she, she gives curt answers. She wears black high waisted jeans, and a looser grey v-neck, with Converse. The door catches her attention every time it opens. No matter what. He's seen her grim expression before. It is the face of his mother. It is the face of the little boy of his past.

The owner of the bar, an older balding man, lowers his head to catch her eye as she makes a drink behind the counter.

He mouths, "Are you okay?" and she nods weakly.

He gives her shoulder a quick rub and she flinches just slightly, before she moves to attend to her tables.

His brother has since given up trying to talk with him and moved on to a red headed waitress with giant breasts at the bar. He had scoffed and mumbled something about making puppy dog eyes at just a piece of ass, before claiming his waitress conquest.

But it's more than that to him. The young waitress is afraid of something. Someone. And aside from the balding man, he seems to be the only one that notices.

And the band plays on.

Last call pulls him from his thoughts and he notices his overflowing ashtray and collection of bottles.

His brother has his arm around the red headed waitress, and they stumble outside. He'll be taking her home tonight. But he hardly notices them leave, as he's spent his time watching the girl with the raven hair and the sad smile. She wipes a table near him and trudges over to collect his bottles.

"Last call." She says. "Can I get you anything?"

"You smoke?" He asks.

She nods. And he offers her a cigarette from his pack.

"I can't. But thank you." She says, with a very small, but genuine smile on her face.

Her eyes shift around the room, and before he can ask her what she's looking for, she's gone.

He finishes his warm beer and tucks one hundred dollars under the bottle, paying both his and his brother's tab, with enough for a solid tip. He stubs out his cigarette and makes his way to the door, looking back one last time for the girl.

Finding no one but the balding man at the bar, he pushes out into the night.

His old 1973 F-250 sits parked toward the side of the building. It had been much busier when he arrived, but the crowd having cleared, it is now a ghost in the darkness. He can hear laughing nearby, and notices his brother leaning against his motorcycle, hand on the ass of the red head. They speak in low tones, but he already knows what they're discussing.

Movement in his peripherals distracts him, and the sound of a man speaking through gritted teeth, causes him to look behind the bar.

The waitress. His waitress. Stands there, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped, the epitome of submission. And a man. He grips her shoulder so hard, his white knuckles can be seen from the old truck. He mumbles something imperceptible and gives her a shove.

"Best not get involved, little brother. That ain't gonna end well for you. Or her. Let him deal with his woman." His brother says, before returning to his one night stand.

The man shoves her again, and his blood boils.

When the man puts his hands on her neck and slams her against the dumpster, he has had enough and begins to rush over. But then, he stops. The back door to the bar opens and the balding man steps out with a shotgun.

"The fuck outta here Donnie! Not at my fuckin' bar!" He yells, pumping the shotgun, aiming it at the man. "Don't you fuckin' touch her again now, ya hear me! I gotta right mind to call the law on your stupid ass."

The man, Donnie, lets go and storms over to his Jeep. Peeling out of the gravel lot, he is gone in a cloud of dust and a faint glow of tail lights.

The girl takes deep, gulping breaths, as she clutches her throat and wipes away tears. The balding man puts his arms around her and leads her inside.

So he climbs in his truck, sitting there a good long while. Long after his brother and the red head have left. Until he sees her leave with the balding man.

Only then, does he feel right about driving home.

* * *

The trailer he calls home is just outside of Alpharetta, roughly a twenty minute drive from the bar in Roswell, Georgia.

He slams his keys down on the card table, before going straight to the kitchen sink and drinking straight from the tap. Looking in his cabinets, all they contain contain are a partial loaf of bread and some peanut butter, so he makes what resembles a sandwich and eats it over the sink.

Looking out to his brother's trailer, he notices his motorcycle out front, and a single light on. Loud music plays and he can only assume he's in there with company. He scoffs, shuts out the light, and heads for the bathroom.

He showers quickly, letting the day roll off of him in the scalding water. Then he settles in bed, staring out the dirty window.

The old digital clock reads 3:45am and he allows sleep to take him.

And her face plagues his dreams.

 _She is beaten by the man, Donnie, and there is nothing he can do but watch. His arms and legs feeling as though they are encased in concrete._

 _She takes the cigarette from him at the bar, and they sit and talk until the balding man is turning the lights out and reminding her to lock up with a gentle, knowing smile._

 _She is his. He picks her up from work. They come home, shower, and fuck until they both come hard together. And she sleeps, safe and protected, in his arms. In his bed._

He wakes, sweaty and aroused, struggling to push away thoughts of the girl that isn't his. Of the girl he will never have.

* * *

At 6pm the next day, he can no longer take his curiosity.

He moves past his brother in his living room, feet propped up on the coffee table, cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon all around him, smoking in front of the old television.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, little brother. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"I forgot my lighter at the bar last night." He lies.

"Mmmhmmm… well maybe you'll come to your senses and get some pussy while you're there. That _pretty_ one seemed kinda tied up, but I'm done with the one with the tits. She'll let you fuck her in the ass if you wanna." He smiles up at him menacingly before bursting into cackling laughter.

Grimacing, he throws the door open and walks to his truck with a purpose.

His lighter stashed in his pocket.

In the early evening light, the bar is nothing more than a dilapidated old house. He didn't see the sign at the road the previous night. On it, is a large squid type creature, holding a ship with one of its many tentacles.

THE KRAKEN

He reads it twice, and he almost laughs at the sight of it. Almost.

He pulls into the spot he occupied the night before and turns off the engine. Sitting there for a long moment, wondering why he's even there. He almost leaves.

Then he sees her.

She slips out the back door, and leans against the wall lighting a cigarette. She lets her back slide down the wall, and she sits, knees pulled to her chest. Her thick, black hair is pulled into a braid, and he is mesmerized watching the loose pieces dance around her face. She wears a white shirt tonight, with similar black jeans, and she aimlessly colors on the bottom of her Converse with a pen as she smokes.

He talks himself into getting out and walking up to her, and then talks himself back out again.

When he notices her lighting another cigarette, he musters the courage.

She looks at him a moment, trying to place where she had seen him, as he walks toward her.

Stopping a foot or two in front of her, she shields her eyes from the sun with her hand, as she squints up at him.

"You have the asshole brother who took Marla home last night, right? Booth closest to the bar, $40 tip?" She asks.

"Yeah, guess that's me."

"Well, are you gonna sit?" She asks awkwardly, after a minute or two.

He steps over and takes a seat against the wall, roughly a foot away from where she sits. Her phone and a pack of Camels rests between them. His eyes travel to the faint, makeup covered bruises around her collarbone.

Her cigarette rests between two thin fingers, nails decorated with black polish. Her hands shake, and she works to steady them with each drag she takes. She hopes he won't notice the tremor, but he does.

"I um… I saw you, last night."

She looks up, and her face is unreadable

"He your boyfriend?" He asks.

"Sometimes."

"You don't deserve that shit."

"He gets drunk sometimes, and he forgets himself. He doesn't mean it. I just stay at Wilson's until he sobers up."

"You ain't safe. No matter what you think, or what he tells you."

"Look, I'm sorry you had to see that. But you don't know him, and you don't know me." She says irritably.

He falls silent, and remembers the dream where she was his, and she had never been bruised at the hands of a man.

"I'm sorry, it was a bad night. I knew he was pissed and I pushed him too far."

He grimaces and nervously flicks his lighter open and closed.

"What's your name?" She asks.

"Daryl."

"I'm Ali." She stubs out her cigarette and stands. "Come sit in my section. I'll buy you a beer."


	2. Chapter 2

They slip through the back door to the bar. Daryl seems unsure of himself, but she laughs and waves him forward.

"It's just me, Wilson, and Marla here. Come in, it's okay." She says.

The building smells of old wood and books, with a hint of spilled beer. It is comforting in some ways. Daryl can hear music playing in the main room, although much quieter than the band from the previous night.

"Ali?" A man's voice calls out from a small nearby room.

"Yeah Wilson, it's me."

She leans against the doorway to the small makeshift office. Wilson gives her a questioning glance up from his paperwork.

"Our good samaritan is here." She says wryly.

"Well. Offer him the staff booth. Beers on the house." He says, pushing his glasses back up and turning back to the computer. She backs out of the doorway and into the hall, looking up at Daryl with a look that makes his ears and face feel hot.

"Your booth is open." Ali says. "C'mon."

He blinks at her, confused, but she turns and leads him through the dark hall into the main room. She gestures to the booth he occupied the previous night, the one the staff uses for breaks, but they seat patrons there during shows.

Daryl takes a seat, and watches the way she moves effortlessly between tables, readying the bar for the evening. She is still reserved, but much less so, and she doesn't seem afraid anymore. Grabbing two beers, she joins him at the booth. He observes the way she arranges her phone, cigarettes, lighter, and beer just so.

"He let you drink on your shift?" He asks.

"Well, no. This is my pre work ritual. At this very booth too. There isn't a show tonight, so it's gonna be slow."

He nods and takes a long drink from the cold glass bottle.

"What are you doing here Daryl?" She asks, narrowing her eyes.

He looks at her a moment, then down at his hands. Before he can answer, the red headed waitress, Marla, pushes in the booth beside Ali.

"Well, well, ain't this cute." She says, taking Ali's cigarette from her trembling fingers. She takes a long drag and replaces it, looking expectantly between Ali and Daryl.

"This is Daryl. Wilson said he was… around last night, after work. Ready to step in." Ali mutters.

He looks at her, noticing the nervous way she arranges and rearranges her things on the table..

"Uh huh…" Marla's face falls, and she doesn't press further. "Yeah I know who he is. Got to know his brother last night too. He's a real piece of work." She rolls her eyes, and purses her lips with disdain.

"My brother's a dick." He says, eyes glued to the sweating beer in front of him.

Ali clears her throat to break the tension. "We gotta open the doors, it's about that time."

Marla slides out and saunters over to the door, letting in the few patrons who had been waiting to be let in.

"You gonna hang out a while?" Ali asks.

He nods, and smiles just slightly. And she feels something she hasn't felt in a very long time.

* * *

She fetches beer, she pours shots, she wipes spills, and he watches.

After a while, Marla catches her attention and she joins her behind the bar. The speak with hushed voices, occasionally covering their mouths with the black notepads they use to write down longer orders.

"Look honey, Donnie is in jail, where he belongs." Marla's drawls in her heavy southern accent. "Wilson called the law on him for puttin' his hands on you last night. That was a violation of his probation and the protection order you got against him."

Ali looks at the sticky floor, suddenly interested in the beer she sloshed recently.

"Look at that man in that booth over there. He ain't here 'cause he likes the atmosphere, that's for damn sure."

Daryl sits, oblivious to their conversation. He smokes and reads an ancient copy of Fahrenheit 451. Ali stares at him a moment, really seeing him for the first time. His hands are strong, and scarred, and he smokes with the skill of someone who had come of age doing so. She finds herself wondering what he's thinking. But his face is unreadable. He guards his emotions well.

"You at least gotta let him fuck you." Marla blurts out.

"Jesus Marla!" Ali hisses, frantically looking for any indication he, or anyone has heard them.

"What? He ain't no selfish lover, I can tell just by lookin' at him. You deserve to be fucked by someone who's gonna take care of _you_ for once."

"Stop it."

"Go on. Get outta here. It's slow as fuck."

"Are you sure?" Ali questions.

"On one condition, you'll take him and at least give yourself a _chance_ to get to know someone other than that shitstain Donnie."

Ali nods, stashing her notepad under the register. She glides out from behind the bar and, taking a deep breath in attempt to quell her pounding heart, she approaches him.

Sliding in the booth across from him, he looks up from his book at her.

"Alright Daryl. Can you get me out of Roswell for a while?" She says, folding her hands on the table in front of her, and leaning in a bit closer to him.

He closes his book, stubs out his cigarette, and finishes his beer in one swallow.

"Where you wanna go?" He asks.

"Anywhere." Her voice is barely above a whisper, and he finds himself glancing around. As though her words were an illicit request, only meant for him.

"C'mon." He stands and crams the old paperback in his back pocket, before leading her out the front door.

They approach his old pickup, and he opens her door for her, holding it until she's inside, then closing it gently.

She smiles as he walks around the front to his own door.

He starts the truck and confidently pulls out of the lot. She doesn't ask where they're going. But she steals glances at him as he drives, imagining she is his, and he is taking her somewhere special to him. Somewhere they can be alone.

"Ain't got any music in here." He says, pulling her from her thoughts.

His elbow rests on the open window, and his hand causally taps the top of the door. She smiles, and he aches when he sees it.

"We don't need it. I like the quiet." She breathes.

They drive for fifteen minutes or so, before pulling into a gravel lot. He gets out and opens her door, giving her a hand down out of the truck. His hand lingers in hers a moment too long, before he remembers it has no place there, and he tucks it in his pocket.

Leading her through a small break in the trees, they come upon a stone courtyard with a large fire pit in the middle, and the Chattahoochee River just beyond it. He leads her down to the river, where a couple of benches sit, almost out of place, on the bank.

She takes a seat on a bench a bit closer to the edge, and he sits down beside her. Looking out at the water, the moon reflecting off of the gentle ripples, the river sparkles and dances before her eyes. Crickets chirp and frogs call out into the darkness.

"My mind… is chaos. But this..." She has never had someone know exactly what she needs, and deliver. Words elude her.

"It's been a while since I been here. Guess I just needed a reason to come back."

"Are you from around here?" She asks.

"I'm from the mountains further north. Closer to where Georgia meets North Carolina." He pauses a moment, then continues. "What about you?"

"Atlanta."

"I wouldn'tve pegged you for a city girl." He breathes a short laugh.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm not. I moved around a lot as a kid. Somehow I ended up in Roswell."

"Where'd you meet him?" His face falls, and she doesn't ask him to clarify.

Looking down, picking at her nails, she knows who he's talking about.

"Atlanta. We've been off and on a while."

"What're you now?" He asks, cautiously.

"Off." She turns to look at him. The glow from the moon on the water reflects her skin, making it look almost silvery against her coal black hair. She reaches up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear, and she looks down with a nervous laugh. Ali is quiet a moment, before looking back up at him with a watery smile.

"Think it'll stay that way?"

She nods, imagining he is hers, and in her mind, he leans over and kisses her in the way she needs to be kissed.

They sit quietly a while, before the conversation seems to flow naturally. They sit and talk until she is cold and her teeth chatter. They sit until they are so uncomfortable in the cool night air they are forced to leave. He hands her the warm flannel shirt he wears, and they walk side by side back to the truck.

It is late. But she doesn't care. She's got nowhere to be.

He drives home, and they are quiet and contemplative. Daryl is a careful driver, and the ease in which the ancient truck glides through the night impresses her. She mentally scolds herself for feeling impressed. She scolds herself for feeling _any_ kind of way about him.

"I live in the apartment complex behind the bar." She says quietly. "In the D building."

"Alright." He nods, lighting a cigarette, and passing it to her.

This is the closest she's been to being on a date for years. And even though she feels wrong, like she's hurting Donnie in some way, she loves the attention and subtle affection Daryl gives her. He looks at her when she talks. He cares what she has to say.

She stops herself.

 _"He's just being a good person. He saw a girl in trouble, and now he's just following through to make sure I'm okay. That's it."_ She thinks.

He pulls into the complex, and into a spot in front of her building.

"Daryl, thank you. I think I just needed to get out a while, to clear my head."

"Anytime." He says.

She remembers his shirt, and as she slips her arms out of it, he stops her.

"Keep it." He says, and she nods, smiling nervously at the ground.

"You gonna be around tomorrow?" She asks.

"Maybe."

She gets out of the truck, offering a sad smile. "Well, I hope to see you around." Closing the door, she looks back through the window.

"Oh, and Fahrenheit 451 is one of my favorite novels. 'So few want to be rebels anymore,' you know." She turns to walk up the path to her building, before looking back and raising a hand. "Drive safe." She says, and with that, she is gone.

* * *

He opens the door to his trailer, to find his brother, Merle, passed out in the chair, in front of a staticky television. Daryl shuts it off and heads for the bathroom. He stares into the mirror and his heart pounds with anxiety and arousal.

She doesn't know how beautiful she is.

She doesn't know how perfect and worthy she is.

She doesn't know that he wishes she were his.

He turns the shower on, and for the first time in a long while, he grabs the soap and begins to stroke himself. Placing one hand on the wall for support, he imagines what it would be like to kiss her entire body, to take care of her the way she was meant to be worshiped. He comes, thinking about running his hands over her, thinking about her free from bruises, thinking about her crying out underneath him as brings her to orgasm.

His ejaculate runs down the drain, and reality sinks back in. He feels nothing but shame and anger. She isn't his. She belongs to some prick who doesn't see what he has. A monster who hurts her instead of giving her the love and care she needs.

He cleans up, and shuts off the shower.

Pulling some boxers on, he gets into bed. Part angry, and part exhausted from his unexpected release, he spirals into guilt over his masturbation.

But he is unaware that, twenty minutes away, in a small apartment in Roswell, the beautiful woman from his thoughts does the same. He doesn't know, she is thinking about _him_. She cries out in orgasm, alone in the darkness, wishing she felt the weight of him on top of her. Wishing she could smell his skin and kiss his lips. Wishing he were the one to share her bed and their bodies.

But the clutches of her abuser are too deep in her mind, and she is ashamed for wanting another man.

For wanting Daryl.


	3. Chapter 3

"If you don't stop lookin' at that goddamn door, I'm gonna push you out it." Marla grouses, snapping Ali out of her haze.

They sit at the staff booth, smoking and drinking their pre-shift beer. It had been a week since Daryl took her out to the river. Ali pours over every little thing she had done in her mind, every word, every look, every feeling, searching for a reason for his absence. But she comes up short.

"He's not coming back." Ali says sadly, knocking a bud of ash off her cigarette into the ashtray.

"Well you weren't exactly clear you're interested. I mean all you did was talk." Marla argues.

"There are other ways to express interest aside from offering up your body, Marla. Plus, I kinda feel like I shouldn't… be interested. I mean, I know Donnie is gonna get out in a couple months…"

"Stop right there." Marla interrupts her. "You are NOT going back to that fucker. Jesus! Ali. Be straight with Daryl. Tell him you like him, tell him you wanna fuck him, tell him you touch yourself in the shower while you think about him."

Ali throws her pack of cigarettes at the red head. "Will you shut the fuck up! I don't need Wilson hearing that shit!" She hisses.

Marla laughs, thoroughly enjoying holding Ali's secret over her head.

"I just know, there ain't no way a man looks at a woman the way he looks at you, when he ain't interested. He just ain't gonna make the first move. He knows you been with that asshole and he's probably afraid of making things harder on you. I mean, didn't he give you his number?"

"Okay, okay. If I haven't heard from him by the time I'm off work, I'll text him on the way home. You happy now?"

"I'll be happy when you just go ahead and take what you know you want. But this will have to be good enough for now." Marla answers, narrowing her eyes.

Ali unlocks her phone, before sighing and locking it again, thinking of the man whose tender heart bleeds through the cracks of his composed exterior.

* * *

It had been a while since Daryl worked as a mechanic, but he was finding it relatively easy to pick back up. The days were long, and he was leaving the shop greasy and exhausted. But, it was better than moving meth. It sat better on his conscience.

Pulling into his makeshift gravel driveway, he trudges up the tiny path to his front door. He finds his brother inside making use of his television, as he was regularly known to do, with a six pack perched on the arm of the old leather chair.

"Well! Here's the workin' boy!" Merle calls out as he steps through the door.

Daryl nods and sets his keys down on his card table substitute for a kitchen table.

"You know, I still don't get why you traded the good money, for a nine to five. Don't make much sense." He says, opening another beer. "Unless. It has something to do with that pretty piece of ass you found at The Kraken."

"We're just friends." Daryl argues.

"Uh huh. That why you're lookin' at your cell phone, and readin' all them books? Like a little bitch…"

"Get the fuck outta here man. You don't know her!"

"Neither do you! Her boy Donnie is a real prick. He works for the same supplier, little brother. He's got that girl wrapped around his fingers. So you better fuck her quick while you still have the chance. Soon as he's outta jail, she'll go runnin' on back to him."

"You don't know her." Daryl repeats, in an attempt to convince himself.

When Merle returns to his trailer, Daryl begins to pace. He thinks about her sad smile, and the way the moonlight off the river made her glow. He's never wanted anyone before. Not like this. A quick fuck is one thing, but she makes him wish he shared his bed and his life with her. She is different.

He looks at the clock on his TV. 1:30am.

He grabs his keys, and takes off into the night.

* * *

Ali leans against the bar, composing and deleting texts. Everything she thinks of to say, sounds desperate or aggressive. She remembers the quiet conversations they had overlooking a sparkling and peaceful river. She thinks of his shirt, and how she wears it at night because it comforts her. Deleting another text in frustration, she struggles to find a way to ask him for his time.

Locking her phone for the twentieth time, she turns to arrange the liquor bottles, and wipe up any drips on the counter.

The door opens, but she doesn't turn around.

"So few want to be rebels anymore. and out of those few, most, like myself, scare easily." Hearing the quote, and his voice, she turns around with a smile so bright, it breaks his heart to see it. She is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"You finish the book?" She asks.

He nods, taking a seat at the bar, and she pushes her phone into her pocket. They cautiously regard each other.

"I'm glad you're back." She says.

He answers with a half smile that lights her insides on fire.

"Give me a little time to clean up, then… will you walk me home?"

"Sure."

She walks over to the ancient jukebox in the corner selecting Led Zeppelin, and Since I Been Loving You fills the empty bar. Pushing in chairs on her way back to the counter, he can't help but stare as she moves about her closing rituals with the bluesy music in the background. She opens a beer for him, and slides it across the counter, her fingertips brushing his as he takes it.

She wipes a couple of tables, sweeps up a small mess, and shuts all of the lights out except for the one behind the counter. All the while he watches the way she floats around the bar, her routine second nature.

"I got a new job." He says quietly. "That's why I ain't been back."

"Oh yeah?" She says, throwing her cleaning rag into the hamper.

"Just workin' with cars. Ain't nothin' special."

"But, do you like it?"

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"Then I'm happy for you. I mean… maybe you can take a look at my hundred year old Corolla. It's seen better days, but somehow it's still alive."

"Ain't no hope for an old ass Corolla. It ain't gonna die on you outta nowhere, if that's what you're worried about. But I'll look at it for you." He says with a smirk.

Taking his empty bottle, she rests her hand on his shoulder.

"Lets get out of here." She says, as she gently slips her fingertips down his arm.

It is the first time she's ever reached out to touch him, and he relishes the feeling, realizing it is an out of character gesture.

She leads him out the door and they walk side by side down the short path to her apartment. She soaks in every moment they walk together, wishing the walk was longer. Wishing for more time.

"How was work?" He asks awkwardly.

"It was okay. You?"

"Okay. Better now though." He responds, causing her stomach to flip with excitement.

They approach the row of small town-homes and she gestures to a 1995 Corolla in color called sea foam green.

"Here she is, in all her glory." She says, with a laugh.

"I'll make sure she'll still get you where you need to go."

She smiles as they take the steps up to her front door. When she opens it, the first thing he notices is it smells like her. Like jasmine, roses, and sandalwood. A glittery lava lamp provides warm, dim lighting as they walk in. And a small television, navy futon, coffee table, and a sizable bookshelf are the only furniture in the living room. He takes solace in the fact there is no evidence another man ever lived here.

"It isn't much…" She says shyly.

"It's better than my place, that's for sure."

They stand there awkwardly a moment, unsure of what to say or do. Sexual tension overwhelming both their thoughts. She wants to kiss him, to take him to bed and offer herself. But some small part of her mind whispers that is always her downfall.

She offers all of herself until there's nothing left but ashes.

"Um, make yourself at home, I'm just going to go change. Can I get you anything?" She asks.

"You ain't gotta wait on me Ali." He says, his voice is low and gravely. Hearing him say her name sends blood rushing to the parts of her she only awakens when she is alone. The parts of her she would give him if he'd only ask.

She retreats to her bedroom, her face flushed and heart pounding, as he looks around the small living room. A picture of her as a child sits casually on the bookshelf and it makes him smile. Flipping it over he reads the cursive handwriting on the back _Aliana_ _age_ _7_ and he wonders why she doesn't share her full name.

"My foster parents at the time took that. It's one of the only ones I have of me as a kid." She appears behind him, dressed in blue striped pajama pants and a tank top. He turns the picture over in his hands with care, before replacing it.

She sits down on one end of the futon, and he sits in he middle. They keep distance between them, but not too much. It is enough to make him excited and nervous and afraid.

She shares more about the foster family. The dad who taught her to hunt, the mom who made sure she had clean clothes and enough to eat, such trivial things were the most valuable to her. Trivial things are emstill/em the most valuable to her.

Her face falls, and the atmosphere changes between them.

"I want to tell you why I'm in Roswell."

"Alright."

"I was involved in my moms death… I um, I didn't kill her, but I helped get her the drugs that did." Her voice cracks with her last word, and she looks up at him with teary eyes. She breathes a nervous laugh as she wrings her hands.

She is silent a moment, unsure if she can continue, and he decides to take a chance. To help her relate to him. To pull the broken pieces of her back together, all the while making himself vulnerable. The thought of doing so is new and terrifying.

"My mom, she liked her wine. And she liked to smoke in bed. Virginia Slims. I was playin' out with the kids in the neighborhood. I could do that with Merle gone. They had bikes, I didn't." He looks down, picking at his nails, then back up at her. She stares, offering her undivided attention.

"We heard sirens gettin' louder. They jumped on their bikes, ran after it, you know, hoping to see something worth seeing. I ran after them but, I couldn't keep up. I ran around a corner and saw my friends lookin' at me. Hell, I saw everybody lookin' at me."

"Daryl…" She says quietly, bringing her hand to cover her mouth. Her heart, aching for that little boy.

"Fire trucks everywhere. People from the neighborhood. It was my house they were there for. It was my mom in bed, burnt down to nothin. That was the hard part. You know, she was just gone. Erased. Nothin left of her. People said it was better that way." He takes a breath. "I don't know. Just made it seem like it wasn't real, you know?"

"I found my mom. She OD-ed in the bathtub. She had vomited everywhere. I just sat there on the floor next to her for about an hour, before I could do anything. Sat there thinking, 'who is going to clean up this mess'."

"You were in shock."

"I had never seen a dead body before. But I still _hated_ her. She spent my entire life chasing a fix. She didn't care where I was or what happened to me. I knew Donnie had what she was looking for, so, I hooked her up. But. She couldn't handle the kind of shit Donnie had. She couldn't handle it."

"He gave her the drugs?"

She nods.

"I called 911. The police took me in, questioned me, but they knew she was a junkie. They had dealt with her before. So they let me go. I wanted out of the city. So the foster dad who took that picture called a friend of his who owned a bar. He and his wife took me in, and here I am. After a while Donnie followed me. Begged me to take him back after I left him to come here."

They are quiet for a long while, both wanting to offer the other comfort, but they are unsure how.

"I'm sorry about your mom." She whispers to the ground.

"I'm sorry about yours." He looks down to catch her gaze. "C'mere."

He opens his arms, inviting her to him. She tucks herself under his right arm, resting her head on his shoulder and burrowing into the crook of his neck. The rhythmic pumping of his pulse comforts her, and she breathes him in. He gently rubs his fingertips up and down her upper arm, and she takes his free hand into hers, tracing circles in his palm with her thumb. Daryl rests his cheek on the top of her head, and she closes her eyes.

He feels needed. He feels wanted. It's as though his entire life leading up to the moment he saw her sad smile in the bar, was insignificant. He's never held someone in his arms. He's never chased away painful memories with something as simple as his touch. He wonders if this is what it's like to feel invincible

This feels safe. This feels okay. This _is_ okay.

He wakes hours later with his head leaned back against the futon. The warmth and weight of her against his body causes him to look down. She sleeps tucked into his side, exhausted, but peaceful.

Taking a deep breath, he gently stands, helping her to lie down. She doesn't stir, and after a moment, he gently covers her with the blanket folded up beside her.

* * *

Ali wakes in the morning and it takes her a moment to remember why she's in the living room. She looks around and discovers a note, scrawled on an old receipt, on her coffee table.

"Had to go to work, sorry. Your car needs a new drive belt. I'll bring one by later on. X "

And she smiles to herself, clutching the note to her chest.

She is not sure what they have together, but she values it. Whatever it is.

It is something new. Something real.

* * *

 **I have always really loved the explanation Daryl gives for what happened to his mom, so I decided to use it. Of course, I don't own it. :)**

 **Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**

 **Xx**


	4. Chapter 4

Time moves faster, because she wishes it would slow.

Hot and humid August days bring stormy September nights. They spend those nights together, feeling cared for and content in each other's company.

At the end of her shifts, Daryl is there to meet her. He gives her the gift of his time, and she is more than willing to receive it. She cooks for him and he is grateful for hot meals that weren't microwaved, or canned. On her nights off, they go to his place, and she helps him fix the small trailer up.

Their relationship is strange. It is both beautiful and heartbreaking. She smiles, she laughs, she isn't afraid. And, on the nights they sit huddled together on the futon, with her in his arms, he feels a kind of intimacy he never thought he could be afforded.

She intertwines their fingers, and he strokes her hair. He is gentle and affectionate when he touches her, and she absorbs his quiet energy, calming the stormy weather of her mind.

Their relationship is careful. Cautious. Yet the most intimate thing either of them has experienced.

But, in the back of his mind, he wonders how long it will last.

* * *

Daryl surprises her one night.

He nervously presents her with tickets to see a local metal band, at a small venue in Atlanta. She sits across him at the staff booth, feet aching, exposed skin glistening with sweat. Lighting a cigarette, she looks down at the tickets he slides across the table to her. She smiles and asks how he knew she'd be off.

"Marla." He answers with a sort of half smile.

"Alright then Daryl. Take me out." She slides her hand across the table, making contact with his. She slides her fingertips under his, and they share a sweet, simple moment.

She craves the uncomplicated feeling of being with him.

* * *

When the night arrives, he knocks on her door. It is something he has done many other nights, but this one, is different..

He is so taken with her when she opens the door, he forgets to speak. Her wavy hair has a more uniform curl to it, and her lovely face is bright, and fresh. She wears a black tank top, with a worn pair of jeans, and combat boots. Ali notices the way he looks at her, and her stomach knots with desire. She leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms.

"Well? Are we going, or not?" She smirks at him, earning herself an eye roll in return.

"You're beautiful." He says quietly, unable to look at her until after the words leave his lips.

She reaches out to touch his arm, so gently, quieting the nerves that fire electricity all through his body. Grabbing her bag from the floor, she takes her place beside him, and locks the door behind her. She links her arm in his, and they take the short walk to his truck.

Daryl opens her door and holds his hand out to help her up.

"This is a serious date, huh?" She breathes a laugh, and takes his hand.

"The most serious one you've ever been on." He responds as she steps up into the truck.

She can still feel the warmth from his hand, as he walks around the front to his door. Ali briefly rubs her palm, wondering if she'll feel it hot to the touch.

The night threatens a storm, and electricity fills the air.

Ali watches Daryl carefully as he drives. She watches his hands, and the way he smokes while effortlessly directing the wheel. She finds herself wondering what his hands would feel like exploring her body, warmth spreading from her center through her.

Diverting her mind from her awakened libido, she reaches her hand over to take his, and he glances at her briefly.

"Y'okay?" He asks.

She just nods, hoping he won't notice her flushed face.

He does.

* * *

The venue is small, hot, loud, and crowded.

People move, and push, and shove in a pulsing rhythm to the opening band. Daryl buys them beers and they take their place off to the side of the room.

She steals glances at him, watching the way he takes in the music, the crowd, the heat. They lock eyes a few times and she smiles nervously, her stomach flipping inside her. He makes her feel as though she's riding down the biggest drop, on the tallest roller coaster, excited and scared and elated. He makes her feel as though she's the only woman in the universe.

He makes her feel, bold.

When the song playing reaches its peak, she takes his hand and pulls him aside. In the darkness, to a nearby wall.

He looks at her, confused, and she stares up at him with wide eyes. The lights from the band's setup flash all around them, illuminating her skin, her hair. Her. He reaches a gentle hand up to cup her face and she closes the gap between them, pressing her lips to his. Softly, slowly, carefully.

His senses come alive and the room fades into the background. They are the only ones there. He brushes soft, loose curls out of her face, and focuses on the taste of her. She parts her lips, deepening the kiss, and he is high on the feeling.

Ali pulls him against her and their bodies connect, sending shockwaves of electricity and light and euphoria. A kiss had never felt so perfect. So needed.

Daryl gently breaks the kiss and looks down at her, at a complete loss for words. This is the first time she has kissed him. The first time she so openly displayed her affection.

"Let's get out of here," she says. "go back to my place."

She squeezes his hand, and all he can do is nod.

As she leads him through the chaos to the door, she stops, and stiffens. He follows her gaze to a small group of people nearby, and a man catches her eye. The man subtly shakes his head, looking shocked, and somewhat angry. He stands there with his arm around a blonde woman. She takes no notice of his staring. No one else in their group seems to notice either. But Daryl does.

"You alright?" Daryl asks, leaning close to her to be heard.

She nods weakly, and they push on to the door.

"You know them?" He asks, once outside.

"Unfortunately. Come on." Ali answers, picking up her pace.

They walk quickly back to the truck, and she barely breathes until she is inside, closed off from the world. Closed off from the prying eyes of Donnie's best friend, Gerry, and his girlfriend Lydia. She retreats so far into herself, she barely notices Daryl climbing in the truck beside her. Or the silent drive home.

She snaps back into focus, as he's turning the key to kill the engine outside of her apartment. Looking over at him, she gives him a watery smile.

He stares at her a moment, before turning his gaze forward, looking out the windshield lost in thought.

"We ain't gotta do anything physical." He says, quietly, embarrassed and wondering if she just didn't want to be seen with him.

"It isn't that." Wringing her hands, she looks down, unable to look at him. "I'm just… those people I saw, they know Donnie and..."

"Are you serious right now?" He asks, finally turning to her. "The man beats you up, and you can't stay at your own apartment when he's on a bender because you're scared. He's in jail because of the things he's done to you, and you're still worried about hurtin' him. You ain't gotta be with me, but you shouldn't be with him neither."

Ali says nothing, just continues wringing her hands and fighting the intense sadness growing inside her. This was typical. Find a good thing… No, find the best thing to happen to her in a long time, then self destruct. Drive him away. Deprive herself of any happiness. Or pleasure.

"Fuck." He says to himself, shaking his head and lighting a cigarette.

Anger boils up inside her as the sky opens up. She opens the truck door and jumps out, slamming it behind her.

"Ali!" He yells after her, opening his door and beginning to step out.

She whirls around with her middle finger raised. Her hair beginning to soak through in the torrential downpour. The rain hides the streaks of tears pouring down her face.

"Fuck you Daryl!" She yells, turning and darting up the steps to her apartment, before disappearing inside.

He returns to his place in the drivers seat, watching lights flip on through her sheer curtains. Briefly contemplating getting out, he decides against it, and sits a moment longer.

He thinks about the way she kissed him at the show. He wanted her so badly, in every way, and in that short moment, he felt wanted too. But her abuser keeps her on a short leash, even though he's not around. He keeps her from finding love and protection, and comfort with anyone else.

By making her believe she's doing something wrong, just living.

He punches the dash so hard it leaves a dent and he splits his knuckles. Shaking his hand out, embarrassed by his own private loss of control, he starts the engine and leaves her behind.

* * *

Ali sits on her kitchen floor dripping small puddles of rain water onto the linoleum.

She stares off into the silence, hiccuping from the tears that have since subsided. A war rages in her heart, and storm clouds swirl in her mind.

Standing up, she hurries into her room and peels off her wet jeans, shirt and underwear. She opens her drawers, pulling out a loose t-shirt and another pair of jeans. But a slip of paper on the dresser gives her pause. The note, the sweet and thoughtful gesture, left for her the first night they spent together. He had listened to her stories, he had held her close to keep her from crumbling, and she had welcomed him into her heart.

She takes a shuddering breath in, and pulls on the dry clothes.

With purpose, she rushes out to her car, setting the GPS on her phone to help her find him. She'd only been to his place a handful of times, but it was easy to get to. Right now nothing is more important than getting to him.

With her mind resolved, she hits the gas, and lets the storm consume her.

* * *

The gravel driveway comes into view, and her heart pounds harder than it ever has as she parks alongside his truck. Thunder cracks and the rain is relentless, but she takes the keys from the ignition, and quietly moves up the steps to the small trailer. She knocks on the door once, then twice, and finally she hears movement heading in her direction.

The door swings open quickly, and he is there. Anger paints his beautiful features, and she wants to cower, and hide, but she knows she need not do that with him. He is not the one who hurts her, he is not the one who breaks her.

He pulls her pieces back together, and she is here to finally let him do just that.

"Hi." She says simply, through chattering teeth and shivers.

He moves aside, and she goes to him, without hesitation.


	5. Chapter 5

He returns home, angry and afraid. Slamming his keys down on the table, he storms in the kitchen. Pulling an old bottle of whiskey down from the cabinet over the fridge, he takes a long swallow and grits his teeth at the burn.

He paces around for several minutes, cursing himself for leaving her. Unsure of what to do with himself, he smokes a cigarette over the kitchen sink, releasing the smoke through the open window. Trying to decide whether to go back or not, he picks up the bottle again before setting it down. Getting drunk is not the answer.

The storm outside is so loud, he hardly hears the knocking, and it isn't until it happens again that he's sure he heard it at all.

Rushing over to the door, ready to unleash holy hell on the person standing there, he throws the door open and finds, her.

She is dripping from the rain, hair plastered to her face and neck in dark glossy clumps. She blinks away the water that drips down her face, and she stares at him as though she's shocked he answered the door.

"Hi." She says, shivering from her soaking clothes.

He moves aside, and she immediately steps through the door.

"What're you doin' here?" He grouses.

"Daryl… I…"

"Don't. I ain't got the patience for excuses right now."

She brings her hands up to scrub at her face as it crumples, threatening to release a sob.

He paces over to the kitchen, retrieves the bottle, and puts it in her hand. She takes a couple of gulps before gently placing it on the table at the door.

"You gon' go right back to him! The minute he gets out! It's what you've always done, ain't it? It's bullshit!" He yells.

"You don't know me. You don't know what I'm going to do."

"I know you better than you think. I know you're fixin' to be just another battered wife. What's it gonna take Ali? He gon' have to kill you? It'll be too little, too late by then."

She scrunches up her face as the tears begin to fall. Staring at her hands, staring at the floor, looking anywhere but at him.

"What's it gonna take?!" He repeats.

"What do you want from me?!" She yells. "Daryl?! What do you want?!"

"I want you, Ali! I've never wanted anything more in my life! I would do anything for you! And I wanna make it so you don't have to be scared or hurt ever again." He wipes his hair from his forehead in frustration, and she looks up at him. "But you don't see me. You ain't ever seen anyone but him."

He turns to walk away from her, but she steps forward and grips his forearms with her cold wet hands.

"I see you, Daryl. All I can see… is you." She breathes.

She leans forward, gently brushing her lips against his, before catching them in a kiss. He brings a hand up to cup her face, and push her rain soaked hair away. His other hand clutching at her lower back.

She runs her hands up his arms, parting her lips so their tongues meet. The taste of whiskey lingers there, and she relishes the connection. Ali shivers at the feeling of his warm fingertips exploring her neck, as he brushes her hair back. He wipes away the cold, and the rain, and her sadness all at once

Daryl pulls back, and presses his forehead to hers.

"I want to be with you Ali. If that's what you want." He says quietly, the gravely tenor of his voice causing her stomach to clench with desire.

"So be with me." She whispers, pulling back to look him in the eye. "I'm here now. I'm right here."

He kisses her harder this time, snaking his hands under her thighs and lifting her up. She crosses her ankles behind his back as he carries her to the hallway. She desperately returns his kiss, and it urges him on. He sucks her lower lip softly, and pins her against the wall just outside his room. Ali rubs and grinds her heated center against his erection, torturing him in the sweetest way.

He continues through the door, and stops to let her down at the foot of the bed. He tugs at the hem of her shirt, his eyes asking for permission.

"Pull my pieces back together." She says quietly, and he pulls the soaked shirt over her head, letting it fall with a slap onto the carpet. She is braless underneath, her nipples hardening at the shock of the cold air against them. He unbuttons her jeans, and fights the damp denim down her legs. As he tugs them off of her ankles, he looks up at her, running warm hands up her legs. He kisses and licks her through her panties and watches as she closes her eyes.

She pushes her hands through his hair, gripping a handful at the nape of his neck. Running her nails up and down his neck as he works, causing her entire body to throb with desire.

Bending down, she pulls his shirt up and off of him in one fluid motion, then ghosts her hands over the plane of his shoulders. She stops when she feels heavy, raised scars. Realizing what they are, she gently smooths her hands down his back.

He stands, and places his hands on either side of her face.

"We ain't so different." He says gently, and she whimpers as he presses his lips to hers.

She reaches down to his belt, unbuckling it quickly. He kisses her neck and jaw line as she unbuttons his pants. Reaching in, she takes him into her hands, gently tracing his warm, velvety skin, before gripping him firmly at the base.

Ali feels a sharp intake of breath through his gritted teeth against her, and he bites down on the tender skin of her neck, as she firmly strokes him.

She tugs his pants and boxers down, and positions his hardened shaft at the apex of her thighs, grinding him against the soft lace of her underwear. Teasing him with the thin layer of cloth between him, and absolute nirvana.

"Daryl." She whispers, and pulls him closer.

He smiles, a genuine smile, unable to find anything to say.

He lifts her up, placing her back against the pillows. She looks up at him, and he pulls her panties off, tossing them aside. She wraps her arms around his waist, as he settles between her thighs.

This moment, is unlike any other experience in his life, and he's lost in every sensation.

She notices he's trapped in his thoughts, so she reaches up to touch his face. She brings him back down to kiss her, as she positions him at her sex. He pushes inside, and the wet heat swallows him whole. Ali burrows her face into his neck, trying to remember to breathe.

Daryl starts off slow, exploring, and stretching, and she gasps at the sudden delicious fullness. She uses her heels to pull him in, his entire length satisfying the need she felt just moments ago. Ali meets each thrust with the consummate rhythm of two people in sync, and he is utterly overwhelmed by the way she feels around him.

Neither of them has experienced a coupling so full of raw emotion and pure unspoken love. Her hands gripping his back, and her quiet moans send him closer to the edge as he works between her legs. He notices her breathing becomes more rapid as her orgasm builds, and she clutches at his shoulders and back with fervency. He reaches down to circle her swollen nub with gentle fingers, and she holds her breath as she finds her release.

"Breathe." He whispers, as he helps her ride the waves. Then he kisses her just below her ear, sending shivers down her oversensitive body.

She floats through the aftershocks, clenching her muscles, and quickening her pace to pull him over the edge with her. His breathing intensifies and he suddenly pulls out, leaving an aching emptiness she wishes he would fill again. Ali reaches down to finish him with her hands, and he spills into the sheets. He moves to her side, and they lay there quietly, still wrapped around each other.

He looks over at her, and gently wipes a strand of wet hair out of her eyes, bringing her back down to earth. As he's pulling his hand back, she takes it into hers, kissing his palm, before she breathes a short laugh.

"What?" He asks.

"That was… I mean, I.. don't usually…"

"Just say it." Daryl's tone is calm and reserved, though he spirals down a black hole of insecurity. She notices the look in his eyes, and immediately blurts out the contents of her mind.

"I don't orgasm from sex. I just don't. But this time, was different. That was… intense." She trips on her words, embarrassed by her confession.

"You just gotta breathe." He answers quietly.

She responds by kissing him. Slow, and passionate, no longer containing caution or reservation. He pulls her close, tucking her head under his chin, and rubs her back until she sleeps.

He lies awake long after her breathing evens out. Vowing to God, or the universe, or any other cosmic being that may be listening, to love, and protect the woman lying next to him.

If this is what love feels like, he has never felt anything like it before.

* * *

"Alright Ali. What's goin' on?" Marla asks.

They stand together behind the bar, working on their closing duties. Marla had spent most of her shift following Daryl and Ali's looks toward each other from where he sits in the staff booth, enjoying a night off from the shop. It's clear that something has changed, he looks to her as though she's a deity. As though she radiates all the light and warmth in the universe.

Ali smiles sheepishly, earning a gentle shove from Marla.

"Well. Look at you!" Marla quietly exclaims. "So. How was it?"

"Amazing. And that's all you're going to get out of me."

Marla's tone changes and she takes Ali's hand, catching her off guard.

"Ali, don't ever let him go. Please. You deserve to be happy girl. You deserve someone who looks at you like that man over there has been all night. Don't ever go back to the way it was before."

Ali nods, surprised by this serious admission.

She looks to Daryl in the booth, waiting for her to finish work. She plans to take him home, and love him, and fuck him, and make him come in every way imaginable. But it's more than that to her, it's more than sexual compatibility, more than similar pasts and common interests.

It's the invaluable feeling of safety. The euphoric feeling of love, though they've never spoken the words.

But she knows happiness, for her, is fleeting. A dark cloud looms over their horizon. A darkness she knows all too well.

This time, she's ready to fight like hell, to keep it from consuming her.

From consuming what they have.

He lit a flame within her, one that had been extinguished long ago, and she can't help but wonder just how, or why he did it.

Grabbing two beers, she says goodnight to Marla, and moves through the empty bar to where he sits. She slides in the seat opposite him, lighting a cigarette with his lighter. He looks up from the book he reads, and closes it.

"Tell me about your past Daryl."

He lights his own cigarette, taking a deep and contemplative drag, and she is mesmerized by the smoke that leaves his lips.

"What do you wanna know?" He asks.

"Everything."


End file.
